Flash Point

“Nuccio, my man, you’ve been reading way too many groupie magazines,” Leon said patiently. “The truth is, the ladies don’t ignore Napoleon the Vicious. But when I tell them I’m married, they naturally put the moves on my pal Jackson here.” Leon slung his arm around Jack’s shoulder, dwarfing his six-foot-two, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame. “Ain’t that right, Jackson?”

“Sure,” Jack responded.

“Yeah, right,” Nuccio told him.

Leon released him and drew himself up to his six-foot-six height. “It’s the truth. Jackson here is a real player. Why, just last night he was at some fancy party at the Royal Sonesta, and the man had to practically fight the ladies off with a stick. Ain’t that so, Jackson?”

“Sure is,” Jack said, going along with his partner’s story but wondering how Leon knew about the fund-raiser he’d attended since he hadn’t mentioned it to him.

“In your dreams,” Nuccio countered. “Maybe the chicks give Mr. Ex-Football Star here a second look because he used to be somebody, but no way do they notice your sorry ass.”

“According to Tessa’s friend Milly, they were noticing a lot more than his ass last night,” Leon informed him.

“No shit! That true, Callaghan?” a first-year rookie named Doug called out. “You really have women crawling all over you last night?”

“I don’t know if ‘crawling’ is the right word. But there were about a hundred women at the party,” Jack said, doing his best to keep a straight face as he referred to the fund-raiser his mother had guilted him in to attending. “And by the time the night was over, I’d say that at least half of them had hit on me.”

“Aw, man,” came a comment from behind.

“Some guys have all the luck,” someone else grumbled.

Nuccio narrowed his eyes. “You expect us to believe you had fifty women trying to jump your bones last night?”

“Actually it wasn’t my bones they were after,” Jack confessed. Although, in truth, Alicia Van Owen had made it clear to him that she was more than willing to resume the steamy affair that he’d put the brakes on two months ago. “It was my checkbook. Most of the ladies were members of the Junior League or friends of my mother’s or both. And they were hitting me up all evening for donations.”

Leon roared with laughter. So did the other guys gathered around who’d been listening to the exchange. The only one who didn’t seem to find the story amusing was Sal Nuccio.

“You’re a real comedian,” Nuccio told him.

“Thank you,” Jack said, and took a bow.

“Maybe you ought to turn in your badge and try using that smart mouth of yours to earn a living. Oh, wait a minute,” Nuccio continued, a hard look in his eyes. “That’s right. You don’t actually have to worry about earning a living like the rest of us ’cause your daddy left you a shit load of money. All you gotta do is have your mama make a phone call and wave her checkbook. And the next thing you know you got yourself a citation and the press makes you out to be some kind of hero.”

Jack sobered instantly. “I earned that citation, Nuccio. And as far as the press is concerned, I don’t have any control over what they write and neither does my mother.”

“Uh-huh. And we’re all supposed to believe that the Callaghan bucks didn’t influence any of it.”

“They didn’t.”

“Yeah, try telling it to somebody who doesn’t know any better. The truth is, that if it weren’t for your family’s money you’d still be a beat cop.”

Jack shook his head. And that was the crux of Nuccio’s problem with him, the same problem the guy had had since they were kids—even before he’d shared the quarterback slot in high school. His family had had money and Nuccio’s didn’t. “It still burns your ass that my family has money, doesn’t it, Sal?”

“The only thing that burns my ass is the way you get special treatment because of it,” Nuccio told him.

When Jack started for him, Leon clamped a hand down on his shoulder. “If I were you, Nuccio, I’d go crawl back under that rock where you live before I set Jackson here loose and he turns you into the city’s latest homicide.”

“You think I’m afraid of him? Of either of you?”

“You should be,” Jack told him, his voice deadly soft in contrast to the anger racing through him.

“Why? Because you’re gonna sic your big black partner here on me?”

“No. You should be afraid because I’m going to whip your fat white ass.”

Nuccio made a show of laughing at the remark, holding his sides and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “You hear that, fellows? Callaghan thinks he can whip my ass.” When none of the other cops gathered to share his amusement, Nuccio curled his lips in a snarl. “Go ahead and turn him loose. And let’s see who whips whose ass. I’ve yet to meet a rich boy who knew how to handle his fists.”

“This one can,” Jack assured him.

“Come on, guys, ya’ll are cops. You’re supposed to fight the bad guys. Not each other,” one of the other police officers pointed out. “Besides, if the captain gets wind that you’ve been fighting, you’re both gonna be in a heap of trouble.”

“The kid’s right,” Leon said. “I’d listen to him if I were you.”

Jack said nothing. He simply stood there, temper and adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Leon tightened the hand he had on Jack’s shoulder. “Let it go, Jackson. He’s not worth it.”

His partner was right. Jack knew he was. But the urge to plant his fist in Nuccio’s face was so strong, Jack nearly gave in to it. And he would have if the door leading to the lockers hadn’t suddenly burst open.

“Callaghan! Jerevicious,” the lieutenant called out. “The captain wants you in his office.”

“What’s up?” Nuccio asked as he followed them through the door.

“Looks like the sarge’s psychic lady from last night was right after all. Someone just reported finding a stiff in a parked car with a bullet through his chest.”

Three

What a night, Kelly thought as she sat in the parlor of the convent the next morning and waited for the Reverend Mother. After the chaos at the police station the previous night, the quiet serenity of the convent was a welcome contrast. She sighed, wondering if reporting her vision had made any difference.

Had they found the man in time? Or had she opened herself up to all the speculation for nothing?

It was too late now to second-guess her actions, Kelly told herself. She’d done what she’d had to do. Doing her best to forget about what had happened, she focused on her surroundings. The dark heavy drapes that hung from the windows had been pulled open, allowing morning sun into the somber-looking room. She could smell the hint of lemon on the freshly polished furniture, and the tile floor gleamed as though it had just been waxed. Shelves of books lined one entire wall, while another wall was adorned with an oil painting depicting the Blessed Mother’s Assumption. Ivory candles and a vase of pink roses with baby’s breath rested on a table beneath the portrait.

Wandering about the room, Kelly trailed her fingertips across the open Bible lying atop a table. Her lips twitched as she caught herself remembering Sister Grace’s infamous white-glove tests in the rooms at St. Ann’s. Not a smidgen of dust to be found in here, Kelly mused. Which came as no surprise. If there was one thing she’d learned in her years at St. Ann’s it was that the nuns truly believed in that old adage, “cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Santos.”

Kelly swung around at the sound of the nun’s voice, surprised that she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the nun enter the room. “Not at all, Reverend Mother,” she told the tall, energetic woman in the flowing blue-and-white habit. “I only arrived a few minutes ago.”

“That’s good. I’m afraid we had a little problem with the choir practice after mass and it has my whole morning running behind schedule.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sister Wilhelmina. I’m supposed to be the one who keeps everything in line here at the Sisters of Mary Convent, although I’m not at all sure I succeed.”

“From what Sister Grace told me, you do an excellent job,” Kelly said, already liking the woman. She shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re most gracious as well as lovely, Ms. Santos. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Kelly.”

The nun bowed her head. “As you wish. Why don’t we have a seat over here,” she said, motioning to the settees grouped around a coffee table. “I’ve asked that tea be brought in for us.”